Down to the River

November’s leaves make the mountainside slippery.

We’re going down to the river, to a remote campsite on the banks of the West Branch Susquehanna River. Four months ago, a friend named Elmer perished at that campsite beside the river, not because of the rushing water, but because of a falling tree. He died when the leaves were full and green, and now when autumn has drained the color from the mountains, we’re going to visit the campsite in memory of him.

There’s sixteen of us picking our way down the mountain, the only way to get to the campsite without a boat. Some of us only knew Elmer briefly as a friend, but we’re going along to support the friends who were with Elmer during his last day, and who were beside him as he passed.

I know for them it will be a hard day.

On the long drive from Lancaster County to Centre County, Regina and Marlin tell Susanna, Stan, and I, about the kayaking trip that turned into a tragedy this past summer.

“Elmer wasn’t a swimmer, and he was a bit nervous about the water.” Regina remembers.

“He and some of the other guys were really talking about the weather,” Marlin says. “They were worried about the storm coming.”

Nevertheless, they had set out in kayaks on the river. “We had a great day! Elmer was enjoying himself so much. He passed out beef jerky to us that he had made himself.”

When the storm began, the group landed their kayaks on a reedy river bank. Nearby there was a campsite with a fire ring, and they put up a tarp to protect themselves from the storm. The rain was pouring heavily. In moments, strong winds blew down three trees near the riverside campsite.

One of the trees crashed directly into the campsite, striking three of the kayakers.

Two were not seriously injured.

Elmer died instantly.

“It was absolute chaos.” Regina remembers. She’s a nurse, and she and one of the others tried to do CPR, but Elmer was gone.

Only one guy had phone service. He called 911. Another guy, an EMT, packed up the campsite. The rest of the group waited on the riverbank, praying and singing as the rain poured down.

“There was chaos, but there was also peace.” Regina tells us. This will be the first time she will be back at the site of the accident.

We leave the busy highways and head northwest, into Pennsylvania’s state game lands. This is where hunters go for deer and black bears. Marlin keeps spotting deer and telling the rest of us, who are too busy talking to notice.

Eventually we’re driving on a gravel road in the woods, some of us in Stan’s pickup, the others in Josiah’s van. We park the vehicles at the start of a grassy lane and get out. It’s a pleasant day for November, and the ground isn’t too muddy.

At first, we walk on the lane, but soon Daniel and Marlin, who are leading the group, consult their phones and point into the brush. “This is where we go down.”

“You’re kidding!” Susanna fakes a shocked tone as we stare into the twiggy woods. Oh, well, we were warned that this wasn’t going to be an easy hike.

Everyone fans out and heads down the mountainside. There’s no trail. Dead leaves cover the ground.

The way gets steeper, and I start walking sideways to stay balanced. A few times, I slip on the leaves, and so does everyone else. The guys break off sticks for us to use as hiking poles, and I thrust my poles down first, then lower myself. Rocks, some coated with lichen, are fickle friends, some are steady, some are not. I try not to look down too much, or think about how hard it will be to climb up again.

Veronica charges ahead. She bought expensive hiking boots just for today, and she’s not even using her hiking stick. Obviously, her hiking boots are worth the money.

Several times, the faster members of the group stop and wait for the slower members to catch up. The picture below is one of those resting stops.

One friend mentions her knee bothers her, and one of the guys says “I have Ibuprofen.” Someone else says, “I have an Ace bandage!” “We can tie clothing together and make a stretcher if we have to!”

My, these people are prepared. All I have with me is water and a chocolate bar. I make a mental note to always go hiking with medical professionals.

Thankfully, we all make it to the foot of the mountain on our own two feet. In less than an hour and a half, we’ve descended nine hundred feet. “Look, there’s the river,” says Levi. Beyond the trees, I see the gray river.

Our guides are good, we’ve walked more or less directly to the campsite. We cross a stream, and we’ve arrived.

The friends who were along on the ill-fated kayaking trip immediately start exploring and discussing the accident. “Here’s the tree that fell first, down by the river. There’s the other tree. And here’s the tree that fell on Elmer.”

The tree looks like any other decaying log in the forest. “There’s no branches?” I ask.

“It was dead before it fell.” Daniel explains. “It was killed by the ash borer.” Oh, yes, there’s a beetle killing all the ash trees in Pennsylvania.

“There’s the beach when we waited for the search-and-rescue people.” “Here’s where we tied the tarp.” “Here’s where Daniel hung his hammock.”

We stay at the campsite for several hours. The guys build a fire. We have a short memory service for Elmer. First Daniel reads from Genesis 28, about Jacob using stones to build a memorial, and Daniel then explains he’s going to do the same, using stones and wood to build a memorial cross in Elmer’s memory. A few others share memories of Elmer. Veronica says she especially remembers his kindness.

Some of us walk to the edge of the river, and start skipping stones. The West Branch Susquehanna River seems small and lazy, not like the wide Susquehanna River I’m used to crossing between Lancaster and York counties.

There’s a few small creeks trickling near the campsite, and even though the guys graciously drop large stones in the water for us to cross on, I still manage get a wet foot. I decide to dry my sock and shoe over the campfire. It’s a little embarrassing, but the thought of wearing a soggy shoe all the way up the mountain keeps me hovering over the campfire, turning my sock and making sure the sneaker doesn’t melt.

“Are you that hungry, Susan?” chuckles one of the guys. “Better watch that shoe, or you’ll have no shoe soon.” Another guy offers me pair of clean socks (like I said, these folks are prepared), and I swallow my pride and put both socks on my bare right foot until my shoe is mostly dry and only slightly melted.

No one brought any food to roast over the fire (remember, we had to walk pretty far), but we share a few snacks. Susanna snapped the picture below of Melissa and me.

Daniel sets to work on the sign (he packed a chainsaw and paint). He carves out Elmer’s name and the dates of his birth and death. Others help him paint the sign and pile stones around it.

Once the sign is up, we take some photos, and then it’s time to go up the mountain. This time I use my poles to hoist myself upwards. At first, I think I’ll never make it, but halfway up the mountain, I get my second wind, and eventually catch up with the girls hiking in the lead. Veronica and I end up walking side by side on the lane out of the forest together.

We stop for an early supper at a restaurant in the town of Snow Shoe. It’s a small-town restaurant, probably the kind hunters like. Over seafood and steaks, we discuss the necessity of checking for ticks after Levi mentions he just found the second tick on himself. Lymes disease is an ever-growing threat in Pennsylvania. We also talk about jobs and personality types and even ordination customs. Someone asks, “How many different churches are represented here?” and we count: ten.

Perhaps some people would find the day’s mixture of mourning a death and having fun together incompatible, but I don’t see it that way. Elmer was the person who first organized this group of Christian friends from so many different backgrounds, and I think he would have been happy to see us enjoying the day.

Death, for the Christian, isn’t the end of hope, it’s the doorway to eternal life, while our deeds live on, changing the world for good or for ill. It’s a journey we all will take, and days like this help me remember that someday, it will be my turn.

Later, as I drive my car from the meeting place back to my home, dreaming of a hot shower and stretching out my sore limbs on the sofa, I listen to music on a CD a family member gave me. (Yes, I still listen to CDs, especially if they are free.)

This CD, which I hadn’t listened to completely before, has a collection of old-fashioned hymns, and I listen to “Shall We Gather at the River” as I go home.

Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod,
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?

Yes, we’ll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river;
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.